


A Prince's Threads

by shotgunsinlace



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:45:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsinlace/pseuds/shotgunsinlace
Summary: Noctis may have accidentally ripped a hole in his fancy pants in his attempt to crawl in through the resort window. But he figures the true source of Ignis’s horror has more to do with the utterly drenched state of his suit, and the unbecoming squelch of socked feet inside muddied shoes.“I know this looks bad,” Noctis says, holding up both hands in order to assuage his advisor's fears, “but the assembly isn’t for another thirty.”





	A Prince's Threads

Noctis has done his fair share of questionable things throughout his short life. From letting Prompto copy his homework to using cheat codes on video games that prove too difficult to merit a surplus of his time, he definitely enjoys living life on the edge at the ripe old age of nineteen. In the odd chance that he gets caught amid nefarious acts, he always has good ol’ Ignis to break him out of stern lectures, even if it means getting a stern lecture from Ignis himself.

Right now, a lecture is all but imminent. In fact, he’d be lucky if a lecture is all he got from this string of bad choices judging by the utterly gobsmacked look on Ignis’ face.

_“Highness.”_

Noctis may have accidentally ripped a hole in his fancy pants in his attempt to crawl in through the resort window. But he figures the true source of Ignis’s horror has more to do with the utterly drenched state of his suit, and the unbecoming squelch of socked feet inside muddied shoes.

“I know this looks bad,” Noctis says, holding up both hands in order to assuage his advisor’s fears, “but the assembly isn’t for another thirty.”

“It doesn’t seem like time management is the issue at hand.” Ignis removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Noct, that raiment belonged to your father. It took weeks to get it tailored to you. What the bloody hell happened?”

“You want the long or the short of it?” At Ignis’ impassive stare, Noctis continues, “I may have, wholly accidentally, gotten a little too close to the edge of the pier.”

“Fishing when you should have been going through your notes.”

“Didn’t say I was fishing! I, uh, was just walking along the pier and got distracted by something in the distance and… Actually, does really matter? What’s done is done and we gotta move on with life. Not linger on past mistakes.” Noctis squelches his way across the hotel room and towards the bathroom. “We’ll make a statement tonight. Out with the old and in with the new. And we’ll start with a new outfit.”

“There is no other outfit, Noct. The intention was to attend the assembly and then head back to the Citadel before the day was through.”

“What you’re saying is… no backup.” Noctis stares at Ignis with dread now building in his gut. “You, Ignis, have no backup for this, at all.”

“I’m afraid not. I apologize for thinking you enough of an adult to not run off and do something so reckless.”

Definitely the worst of questionable things. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

“I ought to let him,” Ignis grumbles.

Ever the champ, Noctis watches as he pulls out his phone and rings up Gladio, who soon after barges into the room with a befuddled Prompto in tow.

“Of course he did,” Gladio says despite having heard nothing beside Ignis urging him to come as quickly as possible.

Prompto, on the other hand, goes from distressed to amused in record time. “Dude, you are nine levels of fucked.”

“Less laughing, more making yourselves useful,” Noctis says.

“By doing what? Giving you the clothes off our backs?”

Ignis lifts his head at this, an idea taking form. “You might be onto something there, Prompto.”

“Wait. Whoa, what? Do I look like someone who owns anything even remotely royal?”

“Whatever you may have,” Gladio says, “it’s going to be better than Noct showing up looking like a wet dog.”

Noctis slumps in on himself, even as Gladio unceremoniously jerks the jacket off his shoulders. The wet clothes are promptly removed until he’s left standing in nothing but boxers, teeth chattering in the cold room. He rubs his hands along his arms as he watches the three of them haphazardly rummage through their scattered belongings, no one having packed an abundance of extra clothing given the brevity of their trip.

A towel gets thrown at his head and he uses it to dry his hair.

“This is hopeless,” he hears Ignis say, and his heart sinks.

The clock is ticking.

“Here,” Prompto says, grabbing the jacket Gladio brought for the occasion and matching it with one of Ignis’ subtler button-down shirts. In what Noctis assumes is a stroke of genius, Prompto snaps his fingers and, without batting an eyelash, removes his own dress slacks right then and there and throws them at Noctis. “So long as the pants fit, you can make everything else work. Kind of.”

“What are you going to wear?” Gladio says, looking down at the amalgamation Prompto has created.

“My jeans, I guess.”

“I believe those don’t quite match your shirt,” Ignis says before reaching back into his bag. “Try this.” He pulls out yet another shirt, because of course he brought extra for himself but not for the gods-damned prince of Lucis.

Noctis is about to make a comment that borders on the inappropriate were it not for Gladio manhandling him into the dry set of clothes.

The pants do fit just right. The shirt, however, gets adjusted at the back with safety pins and tucked into said pants. As a finishing touch, in order to disguise the pins, he slips on Gladio’s jacket. Which, of course, reaches midway down his thighs.

He looks like a damn hot mess and, at this point, he would feel less embarrassed walking into a room full of old men and women naked. He’s keenly aware there’s no one to blame but himself. Still.

A knock on the door delivers the five-minute mark, and Noctis cycles through the five stages of grief. “The papers are going to have a field day.”

There is a brief moment of silence that speaks of their mutual agreement, but that only lasts until Ignis clears his throat. “Well, then.” To Noctis’ surprise, he removes his own jacket and passes it to Prompto who, with a glint in his eye, takes it and slips it on. “We best not be late.”

“Specs?” Noctis’ unspoken inquiry goes unanswered as a flurry of movement leaves him blinking in a daze, then grinning when he catches on to what it is they’re doing. “You guys really don’t have to.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gladio says, plucking the glasses from Ignis’ face and putting them on. To all of their astonishment, Ignis doesn’t complain.

_______________

“I admit that I’m not entirely certain about the statement those boys are trying to make,” Regis tells Clarus once the hall has emptied out. After the initial shock of seeing Noctis and his retainers so unkempt had faded, it was difficult to not be amused by it all. “Youth.”

“They’re trendsetters,” Clarus says, hovering by Regis’ right shoulder as they make their way outside. “Do you think it was Noctis’ idea?”

Regis laughs. “Have you met him?”

“That’s a no.”

“Regardless, I am impressed by their willingness to look like complete fools in front of the cameras for Noctis’ sake.” Regis knows his son well enough. It may have not been his intention to create a trend, but he was most likely the catalyst for something so outrageous.

Clarus makes an approving sound. “They’ll do well by him.”

“I’ve no doubt about it.”

“I hope the reason behind this little revolt was to protest the dated protocol of stiff outfits at casual assemblies.”

“And I thought you to be a stickler for tradition,” Regis says, keeping an eye on Noctis and the others as they sit by the shoreline, eating something he can’t see at this distance.

At one point Noctis holds up what seems to be a skewer, the likes of which Gladiolus takes a bit from, followed by Prompto. Ignis politely declines, which leads to Noctis taking something from Ignis’ plate instead.

“Don’t get me wrong. Noctis is coming onto his own; making his own decisions, being a bit wayward, just like his father.” Clarus nods. “But, in all candidness, that suit was an eyesore.”

Smacking Clarus’ shoulder, Regis turns away from him with a smile. “Let’s grant them some more time, shall we?”

With nothing but an approving huff, Clarus agrees, and follows.

**Author's Note:**

> my entry for the _of the night_ zine! having the opportunity to be a part of such an amazing project was a humbling experience all around.


End file.
